


Scraps of Wisdom

by ImpishTubist



Series: Amal [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chakotay isn't sure that he's doing any of this right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scraps of Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> Needless to say, _Voyager_ in this 'verse isn't getting back home as quickly as they did in the show. So, now it's even more of an AU.
> 
> _“I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren't trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.”_  
>  ― Umberto Eco, _Foucault's Pendulum_

Anyone who says that the first year is the most difficult is lying.

It’s not the first year that threatens to break him. It’s not even the second or the third that might be his undoing. At those tender ages, children are still largely unmolded, unformed, without much of the personality they will develop later in life. At two and three, children are accepting of every kind gesture and smiling face, and it’s difficult to take anything that they do or say personally. They cry, they throw tantrums, but they hardly know any better, and for the most part it doesn’t reflect on their caretakers. 

But then comes ages five, six, and seven, and it’s then that the preferences start to mean something. It’s then that Chakotay slowly starts to realize that Amal doesn’t quite light up when he walks into their cabin after his shift, not the same way that Amal lights up when he sees B’Elanna or Neelix or any of his usual caretakers. 

Especially Tom. Amal practically glows when he realizes that Tom will be minding him for the duration of his father’s shift, and Chakotay can’t help but feel stung by it. He’s there in the evenings, when Amal is tired and worn out by the excitement of the day, or he’s around in the mornings, when Amal is still groggy and not at all coherent. Tom gets to see the boy when he’s awake and lively; when he’s playful and genuinely happy.

This knowledge eats at Chakotay like rust, but there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep his boy happy. Amal wants Tom, wants B’Elanna, wants even Vorik. Anyone who isn’t Chakotay, really, and so Chakotay tries his best to make sure that he works opposite duty shifts of most of Amal’s regular sitters. And when he gets orders from the captain to lead an away mission that keeps him away from the ship for three days, he arranges to have Tom come and stay in his quarters in order to watch Amal. 

It’s not a difficult transition, in reality. Tom spends most nights in Chakotay’s quarters anyway - in Chakotay’s bed - and over the course of the past few years many of his belongings have migrated over there. They aren’t officially out to the crew, but Kathryn and Harry know, and Chakotay suspects that the senior staff long ago figured out that they were involved. Every once in a while, Tom hints at making some kind of official gesture - moving in together, or signing off on the official forms that would make him Amal’s guardian - but it never goes farther than that. 

Chakotay knows that he isn’t the man Tom needs. He’s not the father Amal deserves. And there’s nothing he can do about either of those facts. He can’t move forward with Tom, but the two of them are unable - or unwilling - to go back to what they were. He would never give up Amal, and does his best to do right by his son, but sometimes - on the darkest days - he wonders if Amal would have been better off with the Kazon, and with Seska, who knew how to take what she needed without a second thought to anyone else. She would have been fierce when it came to Amal’s well-being; Chakotay knows that for a fact.

His away mission ends right on schedule, which is unusual. Kathryn cracks a private joke about how proud she is that he didn’t manage to damage a shuttle this time, which he smiles obligingly at, and the Doctor does his required scans before proclaiming Chakotay fit and without any lasting effects from his trip down to the alien planet. 

“But take two days off, Commander,” Kathryn orders. “And I mean it this time.”

Tom is sprawled on the sofa when Chakotay arrives back at his quarters. He’s on his stomach, one arm under his head while the other hangs over the side, his fingers brushing the floor. It’s a classic Tom pose, because the man can’t sleep in a semi-normal position to save his life. He has to be cutting off the circulation to at least one limb, or it’s not a proper night’s rest. 

Chakotay sets down his bag on a nearby chair and moves over to the sofa. He takes the folded blanket that hangs over the back of it and unfolds the soft blue fabric, spreading it over Tom’s still form. Tom doesn’t move, which is somewhat surprising but also is a testament to how tired he is. Tom wasn’t a heavy sleeper in the Maquis, and Auckland didn’t improve things. 

There’s a light on in Amal’s room, which Chakotay notices now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness of his quarters. The door is closed but the thin strip of light is visible where the door meets the floor. It’s not unusual for Amal to be up late like this. No matter how many times Chakotay scolds him for it, the boy still manages to sneak in some late-night reading after his father has gone to bed - as evidenced by how tired he is some mornings, or by the fact that twice now Chakotay has caught him in the act - and that’s no doubt why he’s up now. Chakotay debates for a moment whether he should say anything. It’s not like it will stop Amal; the child only ever listens to Tom, it seems, and sometimes to B’Elanna. Chakotay is just someone he lives with, who imposes inconvenient rules that Amal reluctantly follows, unless he can get away with sneaking around them.

Chakotay sighs. It’s the end of a long week, and he has the next forty-eight hours off. What’s one more failure before he crawls into bed, pulls the covers over his head, and tries to pretend the world doesn’t exist for the next two days?

He crosses the room to Amal’s door and keys in the code. The door slides open, and Chakotay steps over the threshold.

As expected, Amal is awake and reading a PADD in bed. He’s stretched out on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. He’s wearing the blue pajamas Chakotay got him three months ago, the ones that Amal had declared to be a boring gift, and this brings an unbidden smile to Chakotay’s lips. 

Amal’s head snaps up as the door slides closed behind Chakotay, and a startled look crosses his features. It melts a moment later into pure happiness, and Chakotay resists the urge to look around and see if Tom is standing behind him.

“Dad!” Amal bounds off the bed and crosses the room in two quick strides. Chakotay catches him with a grunt and, too surprised to do anything else, lifts him into the air. He hugs Amal close as the child’s arms go around his neck and his legs hook around Chakotay’s waist. 

“Hey, Amal,” Chakotay says, which is hardly original, but he’s at a loss for how to respond to the unexpectedly enthusiastic greeting. Amal pulls back from the hug to look at him, and Chakotay frees an arm to run a hand through Amal’s perpetually messy hair. He gives what he hopes is a gentle smile. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I was waiting for you,” Amal says. “I pretended to be ‘sleep ‘til Tom fell asleep on the sofa. He always does that.”

Chakotay snorts. Amal rubs a fist against his eyes and fails to suppress a yawn.

“I think it’s time for bed now, though,” Chakotay tells him. Amal nods again and wraps his arms around Chakotay’s neck, burying his face in Chakotay’s shoulder. Chakotay finds that he’s reluctant to let Amal go, loath to let the moment end, and so he goes over to the bed and sits down on it, shifting so that he’s leaning against the headboard and holding Amal in his lap.

Oh, but he hasn’t done this for years, not since Amal was four and crawling into his bed after a nightmare. Amal snuggles happily against him, using his chest as a pillow, and Chakotay cradles him. 

“So what did you and Tom do while I was gone?” Chakotay asks softly. He places a kiss on top of Amal’s head. “I’m sure you drove the captain mad.”

They didn’t, as it turns out. In fact, it sounds as though Tom was nothing short of responsible. Ten years ago, Chakotay never would have imagined it. Amal falls asleep in the midst of telling Chakotay how Neelix set his kitchen on fire, and Chakotay sits there for half an hour longer, listening to his child breathe and savoring the warmth of Amal in his arms. 

Eventually, his arms start to fall asleep, and Chakotay knows Amal will be downright cranky in the morning if he sleeps the whole night through with his neck at an uncomfortable angle. Carefully, he shifts Amal onto the bed and tucks him in. He presses one final kiss to Amal’s temple and then retreats, amazed that none of this was a dream.

Tom is awake when Chakotay returns to the living area. He’s sitting up on the sofa, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck and wincing. His hair is sticking up in all directions, and he gives Chakotay a sleepy smile.

“He wouldn’t stop asking for you, you know,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. Chakotay holds out a hand, and Tom gets pulled to his feet. “An hour after you left, he was already asking when you would get back. He wanted me to take a shuttle and take him to go visit you.”

Chakotay can’t help but feel baffled. He doesn’t voice his confusion, however, but instead pulls Tom close for a kiss. 

“Thank you for watching him,” he whispers when they break apart. 

“You won’t be thanking me once you hear what he did to the kitchen.”

“He told me that was Neelix.”

Tom snorts. “He would.”

“He gets that from you,” Chakotay says in mild exasperation. “Rascal.”

“Me or him?”

“Good question.” Exhaustion hits him then, his body reminding him that he’s been up for almost twenty-six hours now. “Come to bed. You can tell me all about the mischief he got up to in the morning.”

Tom, thankfully, refrains from pointing out that technically it already is morning. He smirks. “Deal - but only if you make breakfast.”

“I think I can handle that.”


End file.
